


social theory

by jehans



Series: it's for you [26]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You may never get used to this.<br/>Grantaire and Enjolras share a rare quiet moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	social theory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [star_buckys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_buckys/gifts).



You feel like you should probably be used to this — the steady rise and fall of his back as he breathes, leaning over his books and papers and laptop, the way his hair falls across his face even as he tries to push it up on top of his head to get it out of his eyes, the glint of steel blue as those eyes glance from one medium to another. But you may never get used to this.

You may never want to.

He’s in the throes of finals week, so you’re being as quiet and unobtrusive as you can manage as he studies and prepares for a whole slew of papers and exams. Meanwhile, you’re pretty much done. Last week, you were cursing the fact that nothing but studio classes this semester had you covered in paint and charcoal and ink all the time and sleeping less than an hour every night because none of your professors wanted to come in for finals week so all of your projects and presentations were due the last week of classes. But now, while all of your friends are elbow-deep in exams and theses and epic poems (Jehan, of course) and performances (which is Courfeyrac’s own fault for deciding to do a theatre minor), all you have to do is wait for a grade, and you’re pretty happy with that. Especially since it means you get to sit here, catty-corner from the love of your life as he sits at his kitchen table with one foot in your lap so you can lovingly stroke circles into his ankle as he huffs in frustration through his law degree. You’ve both been so busy lately, you’ve barely had any time in the same room together when one of you wasn’t sleeping. You haven’t even had time to fight. Yeah, this quiet moment is pretty nice, you think.

At some point, Enjolras leans back from everything and sighs. He reaches out and touches your wrist and you look up at him.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asks you, a bit weakly (he hasn’t slept in days, really, which is something you’re painfully aware of).

“Anything,” you answer automatically.

“Will you go into our bedroom and find my social theory textbook?” he asks wearily, not noticing the way your mouth opens a little, your eyes widen. “It might be on the bedside table, or it could have fallen under the bed. What is it?”

_Now_  he’s noticed.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, dislodging his foot from your lap so you can stand quickly, but his fingers circle around your wrist and hold you there. He’s studying your face now.

“Tell me,” he asks softly.

You wet your lips and give him an embarrassed smile. “It’s nothing,” you insist. Then you shrug. “You said ‘our’ bedroom.” This is his apartment, and though the bedroom in yours has been very clearly half his in your mind pretty much since he started sleeping over regularly, something about staking claim on part of _his_  life has been a lot harder for you to do.

But his expression clears, and he smiles. “Yes,” he says very softly. “ _Our_  bedroom.”

Your breath catches — you can’t help it — and his smile widens. He lets go of your wrist to rest his hand against your face, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. A rush of air leaves your lips and you tip forward, kissing him suddenly before you’re aware it was your intention. You kind of expect him to kiss you back for a moment before breaking away and getting back to his work, but that’s not happening. He’s not pulling away. In fact, he’s leaning into you, standing so he can kiss you harder, pull you into him. You’re gasping for air and he’s pulling you back in to kiss you more and more. Experimentally, you run your hand down his hip to his thigh and he all but melts into you. So you begin fumbling with the fastening on his jeans and he tugs at your shirt, the social theory book completely forgotten.

You briefly lift your arms over your head so he can pull that shirt over your head and drop it to the ground, and then you slip your hand into his pants to touch him. He gasps into your mouth and you take the opportunity to press kisses into the corner of his mouth, along his cheek, across his jaw, down his neck as you palm him.

He’s clutching at your back with one hand and steadying himself against the table with the other. As you bite at his neck, hoping to leave marks that let everyone know he’s  _yours_ , he breathes into your ear, “I love you.” And you’ve heard him say it a million times now, but you can’t — you  _won’t_  ever get used to it.

And now he’s slipping out of his jeans entirely and you’re unbuttoning his shirt, and he’s working on the fastening of your pants as he slides up onto the table. And you briefly wonder if you should relocate to the bedroom —  _your_ bedroom — and you passingly hope that Courfeyrac will not choose this moment to come home from rehearsal. But then Enjolras is kissing you again and pulling you over him and tangling his fingers in your hair, and you can’t think of one single thing except  _you love him._

**Author's Note:**

> Shelby has been having a really rough time of things lately, and I really think life should just leave her the crap alone. So I asked her what she wanted me to write, and she said happy E/R smut, basically. So here it is! Set a few months into their relationship. <3 (Light on the smut, but I tried)


End file.
